


The Essence of Black

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Erotica, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Romance, Slash, The Quidditch Pitch: The Changing Room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-04-03
Updated: 2006-04-03
Packaged: 2018-10-26 15:08:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10789155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: A series of vignettes from Remus's POV about different times in his life especially in regards to his relationship with Sirius, and some constants that run through them all.





	The Essence of Black

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

Age 20

  
  
_It can't be this easy._  
  
Remus sniffed the air in front of him again, looked down at the bottle, closed his eyes. He breathed in through his mouth in an effort to clear his head. After a moment, he leaned back in, nose toward the smoky glass, and let the scent of pine/sandalwood/patchouli/something unknown drift vaporously up to him.  
  
_But it is._  
  
Remus found that he was humming one of the songs that had been piped into the department store, clutching his Christmas gift under his arm, completely unable to temper the smile on his face.  
  
Three days later, Sirius Black stared at the box from Harrod's.  
  
"Moony?" he asked, hesitant.  
  
"Oh, bloody hell. Open it, Sirius. It's not a ring or anything stupid."  
  
Remus leaned back in his threadbare lounge, a glass of single malt scotch in his left hand, his face lit by the fire in the grate.  
  
Sirius imposed a studious look on his face, shook the box by his ear one more time for good measure while Remus growled at him in annoyance, then worked off the ribbon and wrapping paper.  
  
He cradled the unmarked small box, looking incredulous.  
  
"Cologne?" he sulked. "I've been bathing regularly, y'know."  
  
Remus closed his eyes, taking a sip of his drink. "Shut up and just smell it, by Merlin!"  
  
Sirius took the lid off of the box and lifted the glass from its black silk bed. He twisted off the stopper, lowered his head down to sniff at the bottle, then smiled.  
  
"Add a dash of smelly dog and you would have Essence of Padfoot." His pale eyes raked over Remus'. "How did you?… Oh." He shook his dark hair. "That's impossible. The name. Impossible."  
  
"Happy Christmas," Remus replied, grinning, his teeth shining in the dim light.  
  
Sirius stared at it, turning the scent over and again in his hands. The one word was embossed, simple, monosyllabic.  
  
_Noir._  
  
"So do you like it?" Remus asked nervously, unable to read the expression on Sirius' face. "The bloke at the counter said it was a complicated one, and then started going off about top notes and bottom notes and I went ahead and bought it so he would stop talkingaaahhhhhhhhh."  
  
Sirius had crawled up to him on hands and knees, handily stopping Remus's monologue with a crushing kiss. Remus dropped his nearly empty tumbler to the floor so he could hold Sirius's head, greedily running his fingers through Sirius's hair, his tongue vigorous in Sirius's mouth. Desire raced through him, tensing in his nipples, blood rushing in a focused heat down…  
  
Sirius pulled back, breathless. "That chap wasn't hitting on you, was he?" His pale eyes glowed above flushed cheeks, part of the achingly beautiful physical architecture that Remus found impossible to keep his hands off of.  
  
His thumbs stroked a reverent path on Sirius's cheekbones before replying, "Dunno. I was wearing my 'smart' trousers that day, and I know how they affect you, so…"  
  
Sirius shook his head, eyes glittering, before thrusting his hands down to rub the straining bulge in Remus's groin. Remus shut his eyes and groaned.  
  
"You are a wicked tease, Remus J. Lupin," Sirius said, his voice husky. "I'll just have to shag some sense into you."  
  
Remus nodded, running his tongue over his lower lip even as Sirius leaned back in to do the same. His hips were lifting up to Sirius's hand; he felt that Sirius was trying to devour him, lips mashed on his, tongues sliding across each other, hot breath trapped by sealed mouths.  
  
Remus was panting when Sirius broke from their kiss. "Yes," he breathed. "You do that."  
  
Sirius gazed at him, heavy-lidded, as he unzipped Remus's slacks, then undid the waistband buttons. "Oh, I will," he promised, shuffling backward on his knees and sliding his fingers under Remus's boxers at his waist, tugging insistently on them until Remus raised up from the chair.  
  
"Not wasting time, are we?" Remus asked as Sirius pulled his trousers and boxers down to his ankles where they formed a wrinkled puddle of cloth atop his shoes.  
  
Sirius didn't reply, but placed his hands on Remus's bony knees and gently pushed them open to make room for himself. Remus held his breath as Sirius leaned in, moving his hands to fondle his sensitive skin, then put his nose down in the nest of dark brown hair, breathing deeply. "Pity they can't bottle your scent, Moony," Sirius said, turning his face to leer suggestively, then put his thumb in his mouth, licking it.  
  
A growl rumbled in Remus's throat as he raggedly exhaled, but it quickly turned into a gasp as Sirius ran his wet finger over the head of his cock, smearing some of the pearly liquid when he ran his hand down, then up. Sirius put his thumb back in his mouth to lick it off, and Remus whispered hoarsely, "God, but you are hedonistic. Angelic."  
  
He felt Sirius's warm mouth and tongue on him and found that he was suddenly incapable of further speech. There was nothing but heat and lips and tongue and oh sweet Merlin a deft teasing finger. Remus gripped the arms of the chair as he looked down, seeing Sirius minister to him, the blue eyes closed, face focused in concentration. "Sirius, you feel so- oh god, yes, holy shit, Siriiiiiiii!" He groaned the last word, feeling passion ebbing from him in decreasing waves until he sank back into the lounge, his heart pounding against his ribs, breathing harshly through his mouth. Sirius continued to lap around him, then sank back to rest on his feet, looking rather satisfied with himself.  
  
"Sirius," Remus murmured, once he had recovered, extending his hands to pull the other man up to him.  
  
Sirius shook his head, and patted the carpet next to him as he lay down on his back, cradling his head in his hands. "Not room for two in the chair. And you're the first to tell me I have a bony arse; I'm not going to sit on your lap."  
  
Remus sighed, and after clumsily pulling his boxers and pants back on, sprawled alongside Sirius.  
  
"Thank you for the gift, Remus," Sirius said thoughtfully, brushing some shaggy hair out of his eyes. "But I've never worn cologne. Might have to get used to it."  
  
Remus leaned in to kiss him, amazed for at least the thousandth time in the last year and a half since they had become 'more than friends' RemusandSirius that he was able to do so; equally astounded sometimes at the surges of fury and desire to slap some sense into Sirius when he was being arrogant and self-absorbed, or when he was glossing over the months after the Snape incident when Remus had been almost unable even to look at him, or when he was simply being blithely unhelpful about keeping the flat tidy.  
  
"Don't feel obligated, Sirius, really," Remus replied. "It was just coincidence. The name, the smell-"  
  
"It's great, Moony, now stop analysing."  
  
Sirius smiled, and Remus was stunned at the lust shining in the gaze. The unspoken proposition found its focused reply as a low pulse began again in his groin.  
  
"Maybe I'll shag some sense into you."  
  
Sirius glanced rather pointedly down at his obvious arousal pressing under his jeans, then back up at Remus. "I dare you."  
  
  
*******  
  


Age 27

  
  
"No no no no fucking no no fucking way not on my fucking birthday where's my bottle dammit whole world can sod off oh bloody hell."  
  
Remus was chanting.  
  
He had been at a club. Muggle, of course, as most of his life had become in the two years he had been living in Halifax. After a couple of hours and several pints of Alexander Keith's, he found himself surrendering to nihilistic self-pity, dancing along with his unique valiant for truth: _Sometimes I feel I've got to run away I've got to get away from the pain you drive into the heart of me the love we share seems to go nowhere and I've lost my light for I toss and turn I can't sleep at night…_  
  
"Tainted Love" still echoed in his head back at the flat. It hadn't been a hit for a few years now, but it remained a dance favorite. In the relentless paradigm of irony which manifested itself as his life, Remus had adopted this particular song as his personal anthem. That it had become popular only weeks after any sense of reality had been sundered from its fragile tether to him only justified its rightness. That was **his** song. **He** was tainted. Everything had been lost; shattered as burning truths like ash had smothered him, betrayal smeared irrevocably across his soul, unable to be purged by scotch or tears or nights spent damning Sirius Black to the lowest circle of Hell as rain poured down on him.  
  
He had been half yelling with the song at the part where he bared his teeth, relishing his ownership of the words ( _Once I ran to you now I run from you this tainted love you've given I gave you all a boy could give you take my tears and that's not nearly all…_ ) when he smelled - _Oh god, no, son of a selkie not smelling that not-him-not-him-not-him_ \- Sirius.  
  
Remus had whipped around, feeling as though he'd been kicked in the chest. After a few panicked seconds, he knew Sirius wasn't there. But he hadn't smelled that scent in years since…  
  
He had almost been sick. His friends and coworkers from the library had been worried, asked him what was wrong. He had begged off, saying he needed to get some air. He'd staggered outside, barely made sure the alleyway was clear, much less ensured his head was clear enough to do the spell and Apparate home.  
  
Now he was fuming.  
  
He slammed back a shot of vodka, relishing its incinerating path as it travelled down his throat. Swaying, he grasped hold of the back of a chair near the table, trying to will away memories of Sirius. Being with Sirius. The play of firelight on his skin -  
  
Remus moaned. "How could you have done it, how, no, you couldn't, no, no, no, but James…" Despite the haze of alcohol, he forced his thoughts down the labyrinthine recesses of logic and supposed facts that had, with the slice of Occam's Razor, led Sirius Black straight to Azkaban. Remus had spent part of every day since then reconciling himself to the realities which resolutely refused to leave him, but which he could not, in his sweat-drenched nightmares and bloodied full moons, fully accept.  
  
There was a sound, and Remus dismissed it as unnecessary and, therefore, irrelevant to the matters at hand: swearing at his former friend and lover, hating the fact that it was his birthday and he was in fucking nowhere Canada, and magnifying his misery with large quantities of poorly made American vodka. "No, no, no, no," he mumbled, pouring himself another. "Can't get worse."  
  
The sound continued. It was somebody knocking.  
  
"Go 'way," he halfheartedly uttered in the vague direction of the door.  
  
All of a sudden he sat bolt upright. "Shite. Wards."  
  
Then there was a _crack!_ as someone Apparated into the dining room at the same time that Remus fumbled instinctively for his wand which was, most inconveniently, in his closet.  
  
Remus stared as a young witch manifested herself in front of him, her eyes a golden, familiar colour. He was so shocked that he just sat, gaping, before he exclaimed, "Merlin's beard, you're a -"  
  
"Remus John Lupin, you are under arrest by the Canadian Ministry of Magic for being an unregistered werewolf within Canadian Magical Borders."  
  
Remus shut his mouth, breathing heavily through his nose.  
  
The other werewolf let her gaze light upon his liquor bottle, small glass, and untidy table.  
  
"You have one hour," she whispered.  
  
"What?!"  
  
Remus was now completely at a loss.  
  
"Don't make me take you in." Her voice was breathy, and heavily accented, but calming. She knew the hellish qualities of their kind of life. "I've been trying to cover for you for as long as I can, and the Ministry in Toronto doesn't really want to have to explain to the U.K. why you've been living here, unregistered, for as long as you have." She glided toward him, placed a hand on his shoulder, and looked up into his face.  
  
Remus noticed the silvery strands in her sandy hair, and found that he wanted to ask her thousands of questions. _Why hadn't she come here before? Since when had the Canadian Ministry been so progressive that they hired werewolves? How long had she?…_  
  
"Just go back. When I return, you cannot be here."  
  
He nodded, mute.  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
He glanced at her robe, saw a name on a crescent-shaped badge. "Heather Monkshood."  
  
And then there was another _crack!_ as she Disapparated.  
  
Remus put on a kettle for tea, then frantically tore apart the flat, deciding what he could take and what could stay. At the twelve minute mark he sat down with a mug and wrote several notes, fountain pen flying, his handwriting erratic: to his employer at the library; to two of his closer friends who had been with him earlier that evening; to his landlord.  
  
At forty-seven minutes, he slumped next to a box of memorabilia, afraid to open it, but equally unwilling to leave it behind without looking at the contents. So he did. Unfinished crossword puzzles Sirius had been working on before… Before. Photos from Hogwarts, youths beaming back at him and waving; he could barely recognize himself within the white borders. Warming gloves, leather; a gift from Sirius. A Muggle bootlegged cassette tape of an INXS concert he had attended last year.  
  
He thrust his face down above the box and inhaled the scent which permeated through it without magic.  
  
_Noir._  
  
Shuddering, he closed it, pointed his wand, and after uttering a spell it bound itself tightly and became the size of a matchbox. He shoved it into his camel-colored leather coat, yet another gift, looked around what had been his home for two years, made sure he wasn't missing anything he could not replace back on The Island, then walked out the door.  
  
"Happy bloody birthday, Remus," he muttered under his breath.  
  
  
*******  
  


Age 35

  
  
Sirius sat sucking on a quill, his attentions focused on the Daily Prophet crossword in front of him.  
  
Remus watched him surreptitiously, raising his eyes from his book at occasional intervals to force himself to believe that he was seeing him there. Honest to Merlin it was siriusblackpadfoot sitting there, just sitting there, in that chair, in front of the fire, always cold, always withdrawn, always untouchable. He doodled some phrases, inking in images that came to him on a scrap of parchment.  
  
"Remus."  
  
"Hmmmm?"  
  
A huffing sigh.  
  
"Do you mind not doing that?"  
  
"Doing what?" _Doing what? Acknowledging that you're here, that you're sprawling in a chair in MY sitting room, that you are escaped, that you are no longer a shadowy shape-shifter, you're merely an assumed murderer on the run, a -_  
  
"You keep glancing up at me. Like I'm going to disappear. Makes a chap nervous."  
  
The origami paper-thin reserve around Remus Lupin began to unfold.  
  
"Sirius, you did disappear. And I'm a practical man. Never forget that." He took a cautious, but deep intake of breath, hoping to sense some of Sirius' emotions in the air.  
  
Nothing.  
  
"Remus, would you mind terribly if I had the house for a bit? Just for an hour or two."  
  
Remus took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes so hard that he saw phantom red sparks.  
  
"You want me to leave?"  
  
Sirius' pale sunken eyes looked balefully at him.  
  
"I'm just not used to… not comfortable…"  
  
Remus tried to be as dispassionate as possible, and failed. "You spent twelve years in Azkaban for a murder you didn't commit. Then you spent a year on the run. Literally. Now you're telling me that you want to be alone?" The last words were said very slowly and carefully, barely able to escape his thin lips.  
  
Sirius stared at him.  
  
"What should I say, Sirius?" Remus fumed. "This is my house. You are someone for whom I care a very. A very. Great. Deal." Another intake through the nose, but he still couldn't smell anything off of Sirius. "And you haven't had enough solitude. You want to chase me out of my own home. As shabby as it is."  
  
Long fingers cradled his forehead, his thumbs running through his greying hair. "Fine. I'll go. Not as though you'd actually want to spend time outside, enjoying the blue sky, the sound of birds, anything…"  
  
He paused, regrouped, regretted.  
  
"I'm sorry, Sirius. I don't know what it was like for you, I just can't, and first you're gone, and then you're back and you're always so distant and then… nevermind. Just don't let anything catch on fire. I don't have the money for insurance."  
  
Remus walked through the sitting room, lifted a threadbare coat off the hook, and left the house, the door clattering shut behind him.  
  
Moments later, he was back. He ignored Sirius and went into the kitchen. After a few crashing noises of wood against wood, he reappeared, a bottle of scotch in one hand and a glass in the other. "Oh." His voice was fatigued. "By the way, happy belated birthday. Your beloved motorbike is in the shed out back. Courtesy of Dumbledore; he thought it would improve your outlook."  
  
Then he was gone again.  
  
  
***  
  
  
True to generous in Sirius's request, Remus did not return for a good two and a half hours. Despite having imbibed a fair amount of his liquor, he kept his steps light as he entered the room. He looked for Sirius on the couch, then saw Padfoot ced up on the second-hand braided rug in front of the fireplace. Remus took a few moments to gaze at him, to really look at him; at the patches of fur which had yet to grow back, at a healing bite mark in one ear that Sirius refused to explain. While outside, Remus's seething resentment had slowly ebbed away like low tide, leaving him on a sandbar of sympathy. He, too, was protective of himself out of necessity; insular, reserved as a means of keeping secrets. Each day was a half-truth, the unspoken words smothering him into quiet. Remus knew what it was like to need to be alone. But now he needed to be with Sirius, and Sirius was an exile, a forced expatriate from his own mind, looking desperately for memories he knew were there.  
  
After watching Padfoot's sides rise and fall several times, Remus was struck at how comforting it was to see him, his own familiar, a living tether to a past from which he had felt he was forever sundered. When he realized that he was weaving, exhaustion claiming him, he gently put the bottle and glass on the floor, then sprawled on the couch. Moments later he was asleep.  
  
  
***  
  
  
_He was standing on top of a hill, watching the ocean. Waves cresting into a smash of churning cerulean; storm coming, probably blow through within an hour. Below were boats which took tourists to_ _Iona_ _in better weather. Fog rushed in, then wind on his face. Warm breeze. Someone - something - breathing in his ear. He pulled his hands from his pockets; gusts played in his hair, ran down his neck…_  
  
Remus started awake and jerked against the couch when he registered another face so close to his. Shaking off his dream and out of sorts, he growled at the intruding intimacy. The fingers playing against his skin stopped.  
  
"Sirius?"  
  
Remus raised himself up on one elbow, blinking against the muted light of afternoon. Sirius knelt, prone, collapsed against the couch. His arm was wrapped around Remus's shoulder, the toughened fingerpads travelling once-familiar paths which made Remus want to growl again, but this time in testament.  
  
"What does alembic mean?" Sirius stared at him with tired blue eyes. "I looked at what you were writing."  
  
Remus clutched at the hand on his back and clasped the pair together. "Alembic. Something used to distill a thing to its core elements." Remus grasped for the right words. "It's what you are now. Your essence. Everything superfluous to you seems to have been… taken."  
  
"They couldn't take you," Sirius replied, his eyes suddenly focusing sharply on Remus, then relaxing. "You're so warm; will you lie down next to me?" Without waiting for a reply, he began pulling Remus off of the couch. "Moony," he pleaded.  
  
Remus had not been called that in thirteen years. Despite the rasp in Sirius' voice, or perhaps because of it, it sounded of home. He sat up so he could then lower himself to the floor.  
  
"Want to move closer to the fire, Sirius?" he asked.  
  
The other man nodded.  
  
Remus lay behind Sirius, their intersecting angles of arms and thighs, knees and wrists, toes to socked feet creating a unique geometric figure impossible to map even by an expert in Arithmancy. Sirius took Remus' hand and held it in his own, first pressed against his cheek, then in front of his face. They stayed that way for awhile, Sirius stroking his fingers, Remus content to hold him until he tucked his head into Sirius's neck, daring a few dry kisses onto his pale skin. A contented rumbling sound echoed from Sirius into Remus' chest, so he ventured on.  
  
Slowly Sirius turned his head. With languid intent he pressed his open lips onto Remus', not so much kissing him as breathing into him. Remus accepted the hot air, the tongue, the fingers tugging in his hair, then unbuttoning his shirt. The floor was decidedly uncomfortable.  
  
"Sirius. Bedroom," Remus said, running his fingers down Sirius' back.  
  
Sirius smiled, the first one Remus had seen since he'd taken up residence at his house. "Yes," he replied.  
  
Once on the bed, they resumed their unhurried exploration of bodies once so familiar, new cartographers of skin tempered by time and tragedy. There was no oil, no lubricant, so Remus taught again to Sirius the spell that had at one time been uttered by him so often that he had even spoken it in his sleep. Remus shifted under him, the sensation of being filled both invasive and reassuring, rocking into Sirius with reflexes he had been sure were lost to him. When Sirius came, his lined face relaxed and Remus had a glimpse of his younger, untroubled beauty.  
  
As he choked back tears, surrendering to his own orgasm, Remus cursed fate by chanting Sirius' name over and over in benediction.  
  
  
*******  
  


Age 37

  
  
He felt a pair of eyes on him, and tried to will them away. Remus was tired of having people look at him with sympathy, or pity. He was sick of it. All of it.  
  
The figure didn't pay attention to his unspoken wishes, however, and instead got a cup of tea and hovered around the table, then sat down. But didn't speak. Simply sat, drank his tea, and showed a remarkable ability at being silent, something extraordinary given who he was. They sat, the quiet resettling around them like a well-worn blanket.  
  
After a while, Remus's unwished-for companion spoke up.  
  
"I'm sorry," he said.  
  
"Thank you," Remus replied automatically.  
  
"No. I mean it. Fred and I know that you and Sirius were… Well. Let's just say that our powers of observation are pretty keen, and, well, I'm really sorry."  
  
Remus looked up to stare at the freckled face which was unexpectedly pensive. "Where is Fred? I don't think I've ever seen you two independently of each other. Not that I can even tell you apart."  
  
George put his cup on the table with an indignant snort. "You and everyone else. He's working the shop. I just wanted some time to myself, as bizarre as that might sound to you."  
  
Remus shook his head. "No. I know about that." He looked suspiciously over at George. "You aren't really here on some kind of Molly-initiated watch, are you?"  
  
George snickered. "No. But Mum's practically got a roster, in case you wondered. Apparently Fred and I aren't worthy of it. No, I'm here because, well, not to be weird, but you're a very calming person, Professor Lupin. And I did want to give you my condolences. Though I'm sure you're sick of hearing that."  
  
Remus took a couple of deep breaths. "Yes. Indeed I am. And for Merlin's sake, call me Remus. I haven't been a professor for two years."  
  
"More tea?" George asked, getting up from the table.  
  
"No thanks. I'm positively swimming."  
  
George laughed. "You're quick, Lupin! I mean, Remus."  
  
A hint of a smile played on Remus' face. "Thanks, George."  
  
"Well, I should be going," George said, casting a hasty cleaning spell on his cup. "I know you're a man who values his privacy. Just wanted to drop by for some quiet." He turned and looked at Remus. "But you should get out some, y'know."  
  
Remus paused. "I know."  
  
George nodded. "Later, then." He left the kitchen, and Remus heard the distinctive _crack!_ as he Disapparated.  
  
Remus sat at the table, feeling suddenly very alone. An idea struck him, and he got up from the table. Moments later he retrieved his coat from a rack near the entryway of the Order of the Phoenix headquarters, tucked his wand into a pocket, and went out into Muggle London.  
  
  
***  
  
  
The sun was setting as Remus used an ancient hosepipe to water the sapling he had planted on the grounds of his childhood home. He didn't want any other kind of memorial, certainly nothing in stone as he wasn't completely convinced that Sirius wouldn't somehow, some way, come back.  
  
Though he knew he wouldn't.  
  
But he could.  
  
With a wave of his wand, he turned off the tap against the house and dropped the hose. Between Sirius and Remus, one official godfather and another unofficial, Harry would never lack for anything, save his own safety. Remus had resolutely come to the conclusion that as fond as he was of the boy, the fates had conspired against him as much as they had against himself, against Sirius and James and Lily, and everyone, and he had done what he could. For now, he would nurture this tree that hopefully would take deep root and become a fitting monument to Sirius.  
  
Remus pulled a box from his pocket, dropping the cardboard to the ground. He took the glass bottle and looked at the inscription. _Noir._ With measured abandon, he untwisted the cap and poured the contents around the base of the tree. Maybe it was his imagination, but the scent of earthy Padfoot wafted up from the ground. He turned and hurled the bottle toward the house where, with a very satisfying sound, it shattered against the siding.  
  
Sinking to sit on his heels, Remus plundered his coat pocket for a last talisman. He withdrew a somewhat wilted poppy, and placed it at the base of the tree. He stared at it for a good while as the toes of his shoes sank into the soft ground.  
  
"Never forgotten," he said finally. 


End file.
